


Loki Looks How He Feels

by juliabohemian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Physical Abuse, Poor Loki, Post-Ragnarok, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Psychological Torture, Thor Is a Good Bro, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabohemian/pseuds/juliabohemian
Summary: Set somewhere within the Infinity War timeline, after Ragnarok. Merely speculation. Thor rescues Loki from Thanos. Mentions of torture and abuse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't start this with any intention of continuing it. Then I ended up adding several chapters and still have more to add, so who knows? I'd also like to point out that I wrote this just before seeing Ragnarok, so obviously it's slightly out of line with that narrative.

The sight of the young boy, sitting cross-legged in the center of floor, was met with an array of confused stares. All but one person, of course, who need not ask who the boy was -for he knew him immediately. Only Tony uttered what everyone else was obviously thinking.

"Um…is that…"

Thor chuckled to himself, but it sounded dry and painful. Because it wasn't amusement. It was acknowledgment. He cleared his throat, as though he could somehow erase the sound he'd just made.

"Loki looks…how he feels," he said.

His explanation was deliberately pithy. Certainly the others had ascertained by now, what sort of gifts for magic Loki possessed. Certainly they realized he was capable of altering his appearance, even subconsciously, if need be. Thor didn't really think he could bear to expand any further anyway. Only after he made the statement did he realize that he really couldn't even begin to assume how Loki felt at this moment. Did he really know how Loki felt about anything? Had he  _ever_ known? Either way, his choice seemed appropriate. Given the circumstances, Thor imagined that Loki might be feeling very small and helpless, much like a child. At least in this state, he was easier on the eyes. The condition that they had found Loki in -head closely shorn and face beaten almost beyond recognition- Thor could hardly bear to look at him.

"Well, at least he'll cost less to feed." Tony offered, softly, clearly sensing the heaviness in the room. No one laughed. No one even smiled. It was so quiet, it was hard to believe that anyone was still breathing.

"I have to ask," Steve began, breaking the awkward silence. "I mean…since no one else is going to…I have to ask…is he still…dangerous?"

Thor issued him a glare of disbelief. He felt the anger bubbling up inside him. He was angry at himself, mostly, but at this moment, whoever made themselves the target of his frustrations was surely a fool.

"Why…because he can turn himself into a boy? Is the  _mighty_  Captain Rogers afraid of a child?"

Steve shot back, immediately. "Are you forgetting what he did here?"

Thor closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself. How could he hope to explain? How could he hope to describe what his dreams had revealed to him…to this race of people who had barely begun to comprehend the value of such things? And at the same time, how could reconcile his own shame at not having realized it himself. Why did it take a dream to finally make things clear? Why did it have to be when it was too late to do anything about it?

"You just don't know," was all he could muster.

* * *

Thor approached "the boy" tentatively. He'd told everyone else to get out, to just get out and give him them a moment to sort this. And despite Steve's reservations, everyone had complied with his request. Tony had reminded them that -after all- there was a state of the art security system in place. There wasn't exactly anywhere for Loki to go.

"You're going to leave again," the boy said, matter of factly, once the room had emptied out. There was no emotion in it. He was simply stating a fact.

"I'm not going to leave," Thor said. He opted to file away the pain of that accusation to be processed at a later time.

The boy's face softened. He was clearly pondering what he'd been told, but his expression still gave nothing away. There was no evidence of fear or need, nothing remotely resembling the desperate state he'd been found it. Naturally that was the purpose of this facade, if it even had any purpose at all.

"I want to go home," the boy said.

Thor sighed, deeply. He'd expected this, although he was hoping somehow he'd have more time. Surely Loki had grown suspicious of why they'd come here, instead of returning to Asgard. How would he find words to describe what remained of what had once been such a glorious realm? It was now scorched and burned, thick with the scent of death. Certainly they could return to it, but the structures that had once housed them had crumbled to dust.

His lips parted, but he didn't speak just yet. He paused a moment to determine how he might best phrase his response.

"Home...isn't home anymore, Loki."

The boy's eyebrow raised. Clearly the mention of his name had pulled him back to reality, just a bit. Maybe it was even a little too much. His narrow face revealed a hint of concern, his lips pinched in contemplation.

"I want to sleep now," was all the boy said, looking at the floor.

"Right," Thor replied, softly. That made sense. The sun was high in the sky, but Loki was probably exhausted. Thor recalled -wistfully- those times in their youth, when Loki would become completely spent after conjuring illusions for just mere minutes. And his friends would laugh, of course. "Is that brother of yours napping again? In the middle of the day, no less...how fragile he must be..."

Thor had laughed right along with them, but privately he'd marveled at the sight of Loki doing magic. Try as he might, he couldn't remember when that had lost its allure and become yet another source of acrimony between them. And right now, he realized, Loki was using every last speck of energy in his body to maintain this facade.

Before Thor could reply further, the boy sunk down to the floor, curling up on his right side. Oh...certainly he didn't mean to sleep right here, in the middle of...whatever this room was. It appeared to be intended for meetings of some sort. While Thor wasn't sure of its purpose, he was fairly certain that it wasn't meant for sleeping.

He crouched down and put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Not here," he said, gently.

It was too late, though. Loki had already fallen asleep, and in the comfort of his slumber, he gradually succumbed to his true form.

* * *

When Loki woke, he couldn't remember having dreamed. He opened his eyes to total darkness, and his immediate response was panic. He was in a bed, he realized, but he couldn't recall exactly why or how he'd gotten there. He struggled to mentally retrace his steps. Had he been rescued? Had someone, somehow descended into that hell and pulled him out? Perhaps this was just another illusion, another comforting lie he'd created in his mind. It certainly felt real enough, but how could anyone possibly have known how to find him? How would they have even known where to look?

Slowly, Loki recalled the series of events that had brought him here.

There had been a great deal of confusion and commotion, gunfire and explosions. And of course there had been pain. There had been  _so_  much pain. He grimaced to himself, as he recalled the sound of his own screams. He remembered the feeling of hands on him, warm fingers grasping at his cold, bare flesh. Someone had asked him if he could walk. Seconds later, he had been lifted into the air. At some point, he had received something that he assumed was intended to be medical attention. There had been a series of barbaric procedures involving needles and tubes, which he had been far too weak to resist. Then there had been more screaming -his  _own_  screaming. Voices he'd recognized had urged him to calm down, telling him that he was going to be fine. He'd been covered with some sort of cloth -a blanket or perhaps a garment of some sort. Someone's strong arm had wrapped itself around his torso, holding him firmly in place. Something they'd given him had made him sleepy, and he had eventually lost consciousness.

When Loki had opened his eyes again, he'd found himself Earth, surrounded by people who he was certain meant him harm. Everyone's eyes had been on him. He hadn't been able to make out their words, but it had been obvious that they were talking about him as well. A nearby piece of machinery had emitted a beeping sound, its tempo dull and consistent. Then, in a sea of blurry faces, Loki had found Thor's. Thor had spoken softly. His tone and expression had both communicated deep concern. There had been no hint of anger or malice in his voice. And while Loki had decided -at the time- that it had been yet another in a series of hopeful illusions, now he wasn't so sure.

Loki sat up, scanning the room, searching for some source of light. As his eyes adjusted, outlines of objects and furniture began to emerge from the blackness. His mind began to sort out the layers of sound. There was a continuous electrical hum -one that he'd come to associate with Midgard, although he realized that it was probably undetectable to humans. In the far distance, there was the movement of vehicles and the rustling of leaves in trees. Further yet, a dog was barking. Just a few feet away, in what he assumed was another bed, Loki could hear the sound of someone snoring. It was a painfully familiar rumbling. And yet, despite everything that had happened, there was something oddly comforting about it.

Loki flexed his feet and realized they were bare. What was he wearing? He wasn't sure. It was comfortable and loose fitting -some kind of synthetic fiber, of course. Practically everything on this planet was synthetic. The sleeves of his top only came down to his biceps, and the blankets that covered him weren't terribly thick. He wasn't cold, though. The temperature in the room was perfect.

He wasn't sure what time it was, but it was obviously still dark. It was late enough that Thor had opted to retire for the night. He wasn't sure how much longer it would be until the sun rose again.

Loki relaxed back onto the mattress, rolling onto his right side. He stared in the direction of the other man's snoring. His stomach churned with an odd medley of anger and relief. Somehow, for reasons unknown, Thor had come for him. Thanos had told Loki -under no uncertain terms- that he had been forgotten. No one even knew where he was -and even if they did, they certainly wouldn't risk life and limb to retrieve someone as worthless as him. And yet -for whatever reason- Thor had come.

In the darkness, tears burned his eyes. He blinked them away, but more came. He had so many questions. So much was uncertain and he struggled desperately to make sense of it. Daunted by the weight of it all, Loki latched onto the rhythm of the other man's snoring and let it lull him back to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Loki sighed and stared at the silver door. It had been a slow, tedious journey from the elevator. His body just wasn't moving as quickly as he would like, these days. Of course, he supposed he was lucky that it was moving at all. He glanced down the long hallway, first in one direction and then the other. There was no one there, at least not that he could see or hear. He supposed it was still very likely that he was being watched. There were -as Mr. Stark had reminded him-  _cameras everywhere_. Oddly, it didn't really feel like that much of an invasion. For once the fact that no one seemed to trust him really was the least of Loki's concerns. He couldn't even make himself care about it. He was alive and warm. No one was trying to kill him, at least not that he was aware of. The aches and pains that had once permeated his body had been reduced to a dull, tolerable hum. The fact that most of Asgard supposedly lay in ruins was something he had chosen not to process, for the moment.

It was a peculiar conundrum, to simultaneously crave and dread solitude. Especially since only one of those things was socially acceptable. Of course it also depended on the circumstances. In some situations, it was perfectly natural to desire privacy -in others, not so much. Certainly there was no realm in which it was customary to ask people to join you in the shower, unless it was for purely recreational purposes, which obviously didn't apply here. Fortunately, the desire to bathe was at least a normal enough one, that it didn't elicit any suspicion from his hosts. A very tiny part of him had hoped that Thor would have insisted on coming along, just to keep an eye on him, but alas that had not been the case.

_Don't look in the mirror_ , Loki reminded himself, before entering the room. Because he thought for sure there would be a mirror in there, possibly even several. Midgard -he had learned- was obsessed with their reflection. People actually carried mirrors on them in case they needed to look at themselves throughout the day. They even used their cellular telephones for the same purpose. On Asgard, mirrors had much greater significance and were far easier to avoid. Outside of his now closely cropped hairdo, Loki had very little idea what he looked like and he preferred to keep it that way. In his current condition, his body and mind had devoted their full attention to healing themselves. Even speaking was incredibly labor intensive. Therefore, unless he wanted to spend half the day sleeping, he could not afford to divert any resources to altering his appearance. Given that he had absolutely no control over the way he looked, his appearance had become yet another thing to be avoided, for the moment.

Once inside, he was pleased to discover that there were no mirrors. It looked to be a space intended for guests to use to freshen up, after engaging in physical exercise. Although somehow he couldn't imagine that many guests were entertained at this heavily guarded facility. The bathroom had no windows either, but at least it wasn't dark. A soft glow of fluorescent light filled the room. Against the far wall there was a toilet and a shower stall. By the door there was a console with a row of drawers and a sink. In the corner, there was a chair with a stack of fresh towels on it. On one side of it there was a receptacle for soiled linens. On the other side, on the wall, there was a hook with a white robe, and a second hook with a very large, plastic bag. The floor was composed of tiny, blue tiles, but was covered with some sort of rough material, designed to prevent people from slipping.

Loki disrobed slowly, letting his clothing fall to the floor. Being nude again was a bit surreal and unnerving. He could recall, with great clarity, the moment he'd been laid bare before Thanos. There had been no practical purpose for it. It had been merely intended to add a layer of humiliation to his suffering. He'd been pulled from his cell, where he'd been left for days, maybe weeks, alone in the darkness. Some unseen creature had stripped him of his garments and lifted off the ground, by his hair. The pain of it had been such a shock, that he had been unable to cry out. He had just gasped and gulped for air. He'd been left dangling for a moment, and then was returned the stone floor with a painful slap, when a sharp blade was dragged across his head, just milometers from his scalp.

"You have nothing," Thanos had reminded him, holding the other man's long, black locks in the air, like a trophy. "You are not a person. You are a thing and you belong to me."

Loki rubbed his eyes and tried desperately to will the memory away.

He stepped into the shower. His fingers crawled across the tile until he found the knob with his hand. He turned it and waited until a gush of lukewarm water blasted him in the chest. He fiddled with the knob until the temperature was just right and then leaned against the shower wall. Sitting to bathe himself somehow seemed like defeat, but he simply didn't have the strength to remain standing for extended periods of time. Loki noticed that the corner of the shower stall had come equipped with a small seat. Reluctantly, he slid down onto it. As he rubbed the soap over his body, he kept his eyes closed. He knew that his skin was covered with scratches, cuts and bruises and that his ankles and wrists were still raw and red from the metal restraints that had once bound him. He just saw no reason to look at it. He didn't want that image in his mind. Likewise, he chose not to dwell on the sensation of his own fingers, grazing over his now bald head. Instead he focused on the white noise of the water falling, and how it sounded so much like rain. After he'd rinsed away the last of the soap, he rounded out his back and let his arms dangle, until his hands rested on the floor. In his head he envisioned rain, falling in sheets over the rolling, green hills of Asgard. He could hear Frigga remarking that "rain is hope". Truly a lovely woman, she had a way of turning every thought expressed into something like poetry. "Rain is hope," she'd say. "It's life. It's a future for all living things."

Loki wasn't sure how long he'd been in the shower. His ability to gauge the passing of time had diminished somewhat, due to recent experiences. But he could see that his fingers had begun to prune. He reached for the knob and turned off the spray of water. The wall of the shower had also come equipped with a support railing. He grasped it tightly and pulled himself into a standing position. He rose too rapidly, however, and immediately became lightheaded. Bracing himself against the tile, Loki could feel the painful rush of blood against his face and his eye sockets. A wave of nausea overcame him, and he took deep breaths until it passed.

After stepping out of the shower, Loki trekked across the room to retrieve a towel. He wasted no time drying himself, as he was eager to remedy his naked state.

The bag on the wall contained a fresh set of clothing, and a pair of shoes, which Loki suspected someone had placed there especially for him. There was a pair of gray sweatpants, and a plain, white t-shirt. Inside yet another plastic package there was a pair of underwear and a pair of socks, both also gray. Yet another bag contained a pair of blue, canvas shoes. The tags on the articles of clothing read "medium". Loki found that odd, since he could not recall ever having thought of himself as being  _medium_. The shoes were labeled "size 13" which also seemed somewhat arbitrary. Size was something of a relative concept anyway -he thought- but when he tried the items on, he found that they fit perfectly.

He wanted to brush his teeth -something that wasn't usually all that necessary -or at least not with the same regularity as humans. Asgardians didn't have the same kind of bacteria in their mouths that people of this realm did, but Loki's tongue could still detect the bitter, acidic residue of vomit. Because it turned out that it was actually  _not_  a good idea to try and stuff your face with food after being starved for any length of time. There were few things in life more humbling or humiliating than your own body, rejecting that which you've attempted to put in it. About the only thing he'd managed to consume with any degree of success was vanilla ice cream, and that had left a film of sickening sweetness in his mouth that he couldn't seem to swallow away. He just wanted every part of him to feel clean again.

Loki opened one of the drawers in the console and discovered that it was filled with individually wrapped toothbrushes, tubes of toothpaste and mouthwash. "Travel size" they were labeled -from which he deduced that the human need to maintain their hygiene was so dire that they were forced to carry these items with them, everywhere they went. That seemed like a rather inconvenient way to live. Loki had discovered that the people of Midgard were obsessed with packaging. Things went in packages that came in other packages, that came in other packages. It was plastic upon plastic -a material that wasn't remotely biodegradable. He found it ironic that a people who were so clearly bent on doing themselves and their planet irreparable harm were so eager to label him a villain. Loki mused that their sense of danger was somewhat misplaced.

After brushing his teeth, Loki bent down to pick up his soiled garments. He deposited them, along with his towel, in the receptacle along the wall. Even in his current state he thought it would be rude not to make a minimal effort to clean up after himself. Such inclinations were most likely leftover from the programming of his youth. Etiquette had been Frigga's territory, of course. "Always leave a room as you found it," she would say. And even though the thought of her evoked pleasant feelings, Loki couldn't bring himself to smile. While Frigga had instructed them on how to speak, it was Odin who had taught when it was acceptable to do so. Odin, Loki recalled, had been far more concerned with obedience and compliance than anything else. Odin expected them to pay attention, always, but keep their mouths shut unless asked to make a contribution.

"Make yourself useful" had been one of Odin's favorite phrases. Because if you weren't useful, you were expendable. Loki had always tried to make himself useful, hadn't he? How it had burned to hear Thanos utter those same words. Under much different circumstances, of course. Because it hadn't been suggestion. It hadn't been advice. It had been an order. Thanos had made it clear that you were either useful to him or you were the enemy. And for enemies of Thanos, it was not death that awaited them, but endless torture. Thanos could bring you to a state where you knew absolutely nothing but pain. Your only sense of self was the echoing of your own screams. You would begin to doubt that you even existed, outside of your ability to experience suffering.

Preparing to leave, Loki lingered in the doorway, savoring his last few moments of solitude. He took a deep breath and then braved his way back out into the hall.


	3. The Persistence of Hope

It was too dark to see. The thick, inky blackness had consumed every last particle of light.

Loki had spent countless hours exploring the space around him in every possible direction, but hadn't been able to detect any sort of doors or walls or holes. There was no way to know how long it had been since he'd first been recaptured. Deprived of any kind of external stimuli, he had begun to lose track of time. Normally he could go fairly long periods without consuming food or water, but it seemed like it had been a while since he had felt the pains of hunger or thirst. Nothing remained but a hollow ache in his abdomen.

Loki no longer had the strength to walk or stand. As there was nothing to lean against, even sitting required a great deal of effort. He had succumbed long ago to his fatigue, sinking down onto the floor, his bare flesh resting miserably against the cold stone.

In a vain attempt to warm himself, he slowly ran the palms of his hands down the length of his naked body. He shuddered at the reminder that the only thing covering him now was a coarse layer of moist, dungeon grit. Not even his head had hair to protect it. He had begun to develop a tingling in his fingers and toes. He couldn't tell if that was because it was so cold, or if his blood was simply no longer circulating adequately. Occasionally he would lose feeling in his extremities altogether, and he would frantically shake them until sensation returned. There were times when it seemed like something was crawling on him, but there was really no way to know for sure. Still -he would paw and scratch and swat defensively at his own skin until he was certain that nothing was there.

The space around him was so silent that -most of the time- all he could hear were his own shallow breaths and the erratic beating of his heart. When he'd first arrived there, he'd coped with the silence by talking to himself. And for a while, it had actually helped. At some point he'd stopped being able to differentiate between his thoughts and the words that he'd spoken out loud. The sound of his own voice no longer seemed real, and thus he no longer knew whether to trust his own perception.

Despite Loki's exhaustion, he was terrified of falling asleep. That was the nice thing about the pain. It kept him from getting comfortable. Thanos' guards had come for him plenty of times before, and he knew they would return. And he might not be able to see them coming, but he at least wanted to be awake when they came. Somehow they had gotten into his mind, felt their way around. They had rooted deep and unearthed all of his worst fears. They knew all the best ways to hurt him, exactly what to say and how to say it. They had violated every part of his body and his mind. Every time Loki thought there was nothing left for them to take, they found some uncharted part of him to soil and abuse. Tormenting him served no purpose. There was nothing to be gained by having him there. He wasn't being interrogated. He didn't have anything left that Thanos wanted. There was no reason to keep him alive. He was simply a toy, a source of entertainment for sadists with unlimited power and no accountability.

They had already killed him dozens of times in a variety of ways. The most excruciating -Loki had decided- was the drowning. His tormentors would shackle him in chains and then submerge him under water. They would hold him there, each time a little bit longer than the last. They would laugh raucously as they watched him struggle and thrash. Sometimes Loki would lose control of himself and take in great gulps of water. Other times he would simply lose consciousness. Either way, his abusers would revive him, wait for him to catch his breath and then repeat the process again. Loki had heard tales of a stone that could bring people back from the dead, with both the mind and body intact, but he had dismissed them as folklore. He found himself wishing that he would somehow become so weak that no stone or spell would be powerful enough to resurrect him.

The stubborn persistence of hope was a form of torture in and of itself, and Loki was constantly plagued by fantasies of being rescued. Deep down, logic told him that there was absolutely no chance whatsoever of that happening. So ultimately, he made it his goal was to extinguish all hope. He decided it would be easiest to simply stop believing that it was possible for anything to ever get better. Because hope was incredibly painful. Hope was the precursor to disappointment. But try as he might to will the thoughts away, they continued to invade his mind. And they weren't at all abstract. They were very specific. It was always the same scenario. It was Thor's voice, clear as day, telling him to hold on just a little while longer. And every time Loki found himself praying for death, that voice would haunt him once more, echoing through his brain. You need to hold on a little longer, brother, because I swear to you, I am coming. I am coming for you.

And it had to be a fantasy. It had to be. Loki knew that Thor, wherever he was, had no compassion left for him. There had simply been too many lies, too much grief between them. Their relationship -whatever it had once been- was dead. And there was no magic in the universe that could resurrect that.

Illumination pierced through the darkness.

Loki blinked furiously, trying to force his eyes to focus under the harsh light that assaulted them. He detected a shift in the surface underneath him. The ground around him was moving.

He panicked, trying to orient himself. Where was he? Who was invading his space? Were they coming for him again? He wasn't sure whether he had the strength to survive another round.

As he slowly became more lucid, he began to assess his surroundings. He realized that he wasn't in a dungeon or a cell at all. He was warm, in a bed. His head was on a pillow, and he was covered with a soft, gray blanket. The shaking he had felt was just the mattress dipping from the weight of another person, leaning into it.

Eventually his eyes had adjusted, and he made out the sight of Thor's worried face, hovering over him.

"You were yelling," Thor explained, in a quiet voice.

Loki reached out and issued a weak shove to the other man's chest. Thor remained fixed in position. He certainly felt solid enough. He was definitely real.

"I wasn't..." Loki whispered back, after taking a few seconds to process the situation. He retracted his arm and pulled it back underneath the blanket. "I wasn't yelling."

"Yes, you were," Thor countered, a little more insistently. "You woke me."

"Sorry," Loki mumbled. He rolled over to face the wall. He really didn't want to think about what Thor might have heard. He could only imagine. He couldn't even remember what he'd been dreaming about. All he knew was that his heart was still pounding.

"Loki..." Thor began, but he didn't finish his statement. He just lingered there in silence, for several minutes, before returning to his own bed and shutting off the light.

Loki didn't sleep again that night.


	4. Chapter 4

Making small talk was excruciating, but Loki managed. Mostly it was one or two-word replies, nods,  _yes_  or  _no_  or  _I don't know_. It if wasn't that, it was  _uh huh_  or  _whatever_ , the absolute bare minimum he could get away with, without appearing completely impolite. And he actually did want to appear polite, to some extent. Sure, it was inane and superficial and totally pointless, but it was also a lot better than being tortured, or someone beating his face in, or metal bonds cutting into his flesh, or sleeping on a cold, stone floor in total darkness. Here he at least had food and a bed and heat. It made it a lot easier to tolerate being constantly watched, every single second of the day. He didn't mind all the sidelong glances and distrustful stares. He didn't even mind that people were talking about him, behind his back, because who could blame them? Loki was experiencing a sensation that -for him- was entirely new. He was grateful. He was grateful to be alive. He was grateful to be safe, and he was grateful to not be in constant pain. It wasn't quite satisfaction, but it was close as he had ever come.

It wasn't until one morning, after they had finished eating breakfast, when Steve uttered the words  _you have to have faith_  that those fine threads that were holding everything together, began to unravel.

Loki had gazed back at him for a moment, with a curious expression.

"Oh, we do, do we? In what, exactly?"

"Loki..." For the first time since the had arrived there, Thor's tone was one of warning. He had no idea where Rogers was going with his statement, but he suspected that wherever it was, Loki would find it patronizing and inexcusable, and he dreaded what might follow.

"Just that..." Steve paused and glanced back and forth between the other two men, trying to read their expressions. Despite the fact that he appeared to be choosing his words with care, he still missed the mark by a landslide. "Everything happens for a reason."

Loki's flabbergasted scoff immediately filled Thor with worry. Because he recognized that sound. It was the _I'm going to hit this man in the face, repeatedly_  sound. It was the  _how dare this person insult my delicate sensibilities_  sound. Only trouble was, Steve Rogers was not just an ordinary Midgardian, and Loki still wasn't in the greatest condition. His body was still healing. He was hardly  _battle ready_. And since they had arrived there, Loki had already butted heads with Rogers in a variety of ways. About the only thing he and Steve had managed to agree upon was that food cooked in the microwave tasted funny, which was hardly any basis for any sort of relationship.

" _Everything happens for a reason_ ," Loki repeated, mockingly. "Did you know that, Thor? I feel so much better now."

Thor couldn't muster a reply, because he knew that those on Earth had their own mythology and their own system of beliefs and while he found most of them backwards and archaic, he also believed that it would be immensely disrespectful to his hosts to cast criticism upon their ways.

"Let's go, Loki," Thor sighed, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

"Go? Go where?" Loki demanded. "Where is it that we are going, exactly? Not back to Asgard, that's for damn sure..."

Thor gently wrapped his arm around Loki's shoulders and urged him away from the dining area, where they'd been standing. While he was pleased that Loki was suddenly using complete sentences, he didn't like where this was going. Fortunately, Loki appeared to realize it was a bad idea to start anything that he wasn't equipped to finish and voluntarily followed Thor outside.

"I really can't stand that guy," Loki confessed, once they were out in the hallway.

"Well...if it helps," Thor replied, "I'm pretty sure he can't stand you either."


	5. Chapter 5

"He sleeps most of the day," Thor said, pacing the long, scarlet rug that ran the length of the room.

"Uh huh…that's to be expected," Stephen commented, without looking up from his book. He was seated in one of two leather upholstered armchairs, where he was barely managing to conceal his indifference to the other man's woes. He licked his thumb and casually swiped at the next page. "His body and mind are still healing."

" _Still,_ " Thor contested.

"Does he sleep at night?" Stephen asked.

Thor stopped pacing long enough to issue a shrug.

"I don't know…sometimes."

Stephen tilted his head, thoughtfully, eyes still on his book.

"Which means sometimes he doesn't."

"He has…nightmares," Thor explained, making another lap around the rug.

"Okay."

"And he moans and he…yells."

Stephen raised a curious eyebrow. That was at least mildly interesting. He glanced up at the other man for a moment.

"What does he yell, exactly?"

"Mostly individual words... _no_  or  _stop_ …things like that."

"Hmm." Okay, maybe not that interesting.

"It wakes me up, of course...and when I go to check on him, it's like he doesn't remember doing it."

"He probably doesn't." Stephen replied, casually returning his gaze to his book. "That's a fairly typical side effect of severe emotional and physical trauma."

Thor cringed visibly at the word,  _trauma_.

"Then he denies it, the yelling...or he accuses me of making it up...or sometimes it's like he doesn't even see me there at all."

Stephen nodded, unfazed.

"Mmm hmm, that's…also fairly typical. It's called  _dissociation_."

Thor didn't appear to appreciate the other man's glibness. He stopped pacing again, pausing to regard the empty chair. It seemed like he was deliberating about whether or not he should sit.

"You know...I actually thought you'd be more helpful."

"I'm sorry I ever gave you that idea," Stephen deadpanned. Weeks earlier, when Thor approached him, he had reluctantly facilitated Loki's rescue by creating a portal to a specific point in space. Thor had used that portal to retrieve Loki and bring him back to Earth. At the time, given the dire state Loki had been found in, Stephen had felt a certain professional responsibility to see to it that he received emergency medical care. But as far as he was concerned, once he'd ascertained that Loki's condition was stable and that he wasn't currently a threat to Earth, his obligation had been fulfilled.

"Are you not his physician of record?" Thor asked, finally opting to sit. He slowly lowered himself onto the chair and then rocked back and forth in it, ever so slightly, as though he were testing its weight.

"Well technically there  _was_  no record," Stephen pointed out, "unless of course his name really  _is_  John Doe."

"I have no idea what that means."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

"So when you said I should call you..."

"I was merely being polite," Stephen supplied. "Which I kind of thought was obvious, but apparently not."

Thor huffed, irritably.

"Are all Midgardians so disingenuous?"

"I guess that's a matter of perspective."

"How long does it take for all of this to…stop?"

"No way to know for sure."

"Isn't there something you could give him in the meantime?"

"You mean like a magic pill?" Stephen quipped.

Thor shook his head.

"I wasn't suggesting the use of sorcery, Doctor."

"Look," Stephen explained, "psychological trauma is not the same as a physical injury. As you know...if you break a bone, the body will heal it. The cells know exactly what to do, how to repair themselves. They're programmed to do just that. They do it, with our without our intervention. Healing emotional damage…it's more abstract. It's not part of our programming. It takes conscious, continuous effort."

"What exactly are you saying?"

Stephen realized that he wasn't going to get any reading done, as long as his guest remained. He closed his book and sat it on the table beside his chair. Then he let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Do you want me to have him evaluated?"

Thor frowned, quizzically.

"Uh…to what end?"

Stephen concluded that the other man was probably unfamiliar with the Midgardian connotation of that term.

"I meant mentally...psychologically. Maybe he can talk to someone who…deals with this sort of thing."

Thor still looked confused.

"It's not that I don't appreciate your... _medical_  expertise, but that doesn't really sound like something Loki would do."

Stephen clasped his hands together, emphatically. He had very little patience for fruitless conversation and this one was going absolutely nowhere. He wanted nothing more than to hurry it along, so he could return to his reading.

"Does waking up, screaming, sound like something Loki would do?"

Thor either didn't detect the other man's sarcasm or he was choosing to ignore it.

"No…I mean, as a child he had nightmares, but nothing like this."

"Right."

"What makes you think he would be willing to discuss his troubles with a total stranger?"

"Well, just thinking outside the box here," Stephen offered, "but given that he's  _your_  brother and all...have you thought about talking to him yourself?"

"I...don't know what I'd say," Thor admitted.

"Hmm…how about something like  _hey, you wake up screaming every night. What's up with that_?"

Thor growled.

"This is  _not_  a joke."

Stephen issued a playful roll of his eyes.

"You know, you are awfully uptight for someone who can drown a stein of beer in three seconds."

"I am  _not_  uptight," Thor hissed, through gritted teeth.

Stephen grinned, smugly.

"Good...then I'm sure you'll approach this situation with all the sensitivity it deserves."


	6. Sensitivity

"You have to talk to me," Thor demanded, entering their room and closing the door behind him.

Loki was seated on the edge of his bed, hands in his lap. The persistent knot in his stomach tightened in response the other man's words. He exhaled, sharply, trying to will it loose. Another breath in and another out. Over and over. It didn't help. The knot remained. He could feel his pulse quicken, and the food he'd eaten earlier was threatening to make a reappearance. Of course, the fact that the door was now closed definitely didn't help. He cursed inwardly at his body's involuntary responses.

For weeks, Thor had been tiptoeing around him, treating him like he was made of glass. And as much as Loki had hated that, it was preferable to this. Now that the other man was advancing towards him, he found himself feeling afraid. Not because he was worried that Thor would hurt him, although he still wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't, but because he wasn't ready to confront what had happened to him. He wasn't ready to talk about it. He wasn't even ready to think about it. He had specifically done everything in his power to avoid doing so. Surely, Thor had seen enough with his own eyes. Surely, he had drawn his own conclusions. Why did it require discussion?

"There's…nothing to say," Loki replied. It had been long enough since the last time he'd spoken, that his voice had been momentarily reduced to a pathetic croak. He cleared his throat, harshly.

Thor frowned, confused.

"So  _that's_  how it is?"

"That's not what I meant," Loki protested, weakly. Except that he really had no idea what it is that Thor thought he meant at all. He just wanted to say whatever he needed to say to bring the conversation to an end, or at least to prevent it from traveling where he was fairly certain it was headed.

"Then what  _did_  you mean?" Thor prodded, insistently.

Loki turned away from his brother, angling himself towards the wall as he spoke. He was well aware how ridiculous he probably looked, but somehow it was still easier than the alternative.

"I'm grateful. I know you think I'm not, but I am. I'm…I'm grateful that you found me, and believe it or not, to some extent…I'm even grateful to be here…I know it's far more than I deserve..."

Thor regarded his brother's defensive posture with a raised eyebrow.

"Loki…that's not what I'm talking about."

"Well, I don't know what more you want me to say…" Loki mumbled, shifting his gaze at the floor.

Except that wasn't true at all. He certainly had some idea what Thor wanted. He felt like a damn fool saying otherwise. The lie left a bitter taste in his mouth and his lips formed an involuntary grimace. It was an achingly familiar feeling. As a child, Loki had stood before his mother or father on countless occasions. He had looked them right in the eye as they had patiently allowed him to clumsily fumble his way through one false testament after another, only to reveal that they had known the truth all along. For whatever reason, they had been content to wait for him to finish incriminating himself, before casting their judgement and exacting their discipline. And although Loki knew it was highly unlikely that this particular lie would result in similar consequences, it elicited the very same degree of shame and self loathing. Sadly, those feelings were still marginally preferable to the alternative.

Thor appeared to sense that his close proximity might be doing more harm than good, and he took a step back.

"You're not even going to acknowledge it, then?"

Loki only just then realized that he had been rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fists, his fingernails gouging into the tender flesh of his palms. The anxiety had been building up inside him, and the pressure was mounting. He wasn't in control, and he knew it. All those months he'd spent being tortured, languishing in the darkness, just trying to survive...there hadn't been a single moment where he had been in control. And yet, somehow this was different. Somehow this was worse. He desperately wanted to punch something, to just keep hitting it over and over until his knuckles went numb from the abuse. He wanted to scream, until he could no longer make sound. He wanted to shake free of the shroud of vulnerability that had haunted him, ever since the day he'd fallen into the void, ever since he had crossed paths with Thanos for the first time.

"I can't," Loki confessed. He was trying to remain calm, but his voice was shaking. "Please don't ask that of me."

"You woke up yelling last night…again," Thor pointed out, sharply, "just like you did the night before and the night before that."

Loki closed his eyes, a wave of nausea rushing over him. The last thing he needed right now, was to vomit. He didn't doubt that his brother spoke the truth, but he honestly  _didn't_  remember waking up at all, let alone yelling. His dreams had been dark and frightening, but that was nothing new. It had pretty much been the norm since he'd been rescued from the darkness, weeks prior. Since then, the lines between consciousness and unconsciousness had become somewhat blurred. The time he spent being awake didn't seem any more real to him than his dreams. Hearing it out loud, now...knowing that he was doing things, possibly even saying things, that he wasn't even aware of. It unnerved him on a level he wasn't prepared to confront. Surely Thor knew him well enough to understand why.

"Please," was all he could muster. He loathed how pathetic he sounded.  _Oh, how the mighty have fallen._  "Please don't."

Thor stared at him for several long moments. When he spoke again his voice was quieter, warmer.

"What do you want from me, Loki?"

Loki opened his eyes, surprised by the other man's uncharacteristic gentleness.

"I...I don't want anything," he stammered.

Thor sighed. Slowly and carefully, he approached his brother and sat down on the bed, beside him.

"I mean, what do you  _need_  from me? What do you need me to do? Just tell me."

Loki inhaled slowly, trying to relax. He held his breath and then let it out again. It wasn't helping. His heart was still racing. He stopped clenching his fists and tried to let his arms go slack, but somehow it felt weak and unnatural. He realized what his brother was actually proposing. Thor was giving him permission to wait, to wait until he was ready to explain all of this. At the same time, it was also sort of an ultimatum, a promise that the issue would be dealt with, eventually.

"Just...give me more time," Loki offered.

"How  _much_  more time?" Thor asked, sounding rather desperate. He extended a hand and briefly cupped the back of his brother's neck. It was obviously meant as a gesture of affection, but Loki still flinched at the unexpected contact. His shoulders jerked backwards awkwardly, and he looked at the wall again to conceal his embarrassment.

"I honestly don't know."

"You can't go on like this," Thor said. "You just can't."

"I'm...well aware of that."

Loki gritted his teeth and attempted a smile, but it actually hurt his jaw. He wanted to properly convey his relief, but his facial muscles just wouldn't obey. It had been so long since he had felt anything but sorrow and dread. He detected a hint of fear in Thor's voice, and it unnerved him, because Thor was never afraid. If Thor was afraid, then surely they were doomed.

"You know," Thor added, chuckling, "when we first came here, you likened yourself to a small child."

" _What?"_ Loki gasped, his eyes wide.

He definitely wasn't ready to hear that. Not on top of everything else. He knew that he was capable of such a thing, but he didn't recall having done it. He shuddered to imagine it, to think who might have seen. The relief he'd experienced just moments ago, was melting away, replaced by panic.

"You don't remember?"

Loki shook his head. No, he definitely did not remember.

Thor laughed, softly.

"I'd forgotten how cute you used to be."

Loki swallowed the acid that had slowly been creeping its way up his throat. He didn't care for that word,  _cute_. It was diminutive. It applied to many things, certainly, but none of them bore any resemblance to him. The fact that Thor was making light of something so humiliating was more than he could bear.

"I was never cute," he whispered.

Thor smiled back at him, unaware that his brother's reply had not been meant in jest.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" He asked.

Loki looked up.  _Did_  he want that? Not especially. He just didn't understand why -lately- the two of them being in a room together always seemed to mean uncomfortable conversations about things he wasn't prepared to discuss. He didn't understand why Thor couldn't just accept that there was nothing he could actually do to change what had happened and that dwelling on it only made it worse.

"No."

Thor seemed pleased with the response, pleased that his presence was desired, maybe. He moved a little closer to Loki, on the edge of the bed. It appeared at first that maybe he was reaching for Loki's hand, but then he gripped his wrist instead. Loki could feel his blood, pulsing against the other man's fingers.

"It's beating so fast..." Thor remarked, mostly under his breath. He swiped his thumb back and forth a few times, tenderly. "Are you in pain?"

"It's not bad," Loki replied, quickly. Except that it actually was bad. It just wasn't as bad as it had been. It was still beyond what most people would consider casual discomfort. Even so, he didn't want Thor worrying about it, not on top of everything else. His body would eventually heal and the pain would subside. There was no reason to fuss about it.

Loki closed his eyes, hoping that doing so would discourage Thor from feeling compelled to fill the silence with words. After a few moments, he could feel his brother leaning into him.

Thor's fingers were still wrapped around his wrist. In a murmur that was just barely audible, he said, "I'm  _so_  sorry that this happened to you."


End file.
